All Work And No Pasta Makes Italy A Crazy Boy
by Roxius
Summary: Italy shows his dark side when he finds himself denied of his beloved pasta. No pairings, OOCness, character violence. Please R & R! I decided to just end it early.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.

A/N: I think this series could definitely use more important female characters (or at least Ukraine should actually appear more than once or twice).

* * *

"Oh?"

Upon opening the cabinets over the sink in Germany's humble abode, Italy had fully well expected to see his special container of pasta stored in there. Instead, all he saw was nothing but a few cobwebs and mothballs. His hair curl flopping downward, his carefree smile slowly fading, his left eyebrow twitching erratically, something deep inside the psyche of the young man was beginning to come apart. He loved pasta more than anything else in the world, and to be denied it was nothing less than the greatest offense to humanity that he could imagine. Slowly, he closed the cabinet doors and called out to Germany, who was still in the other room.

"Germany! Germany!"

"What is it now?" The tall, blonde man stepped into the kitchen, sighing, "How long do you plan on staying here, anyway? The neighbors have started to talk...it's really embarrassing for me..."

"Where's all the pasta, Germany? Where's all the pasta? It's supposed to be right in here!"

"You ate it all yesterday, you gluttonous fool!"

"Then...then can we go buy some?"

"I have no interest in wasting even more money on you and your pasta fetish,"

"Please? Please? Please? I swear I'll be good, Germany! I swear I'll behave! I'll even go to war with you if that's what you want! Just please, give me pastaaaaaa! Waaaaaaaaah! Waaaahahaaaaah!"

Germany thought it over for just the briefest of moments. "I'm sorry, but no." And with that, he turned around and proceeded to leave the room.

Still sobbing profusely like a spoiled child, Italy darted out of the building, and quickly made his way over to Japan's place; surely, he thought, his other best friend in the whole wide world would have some pasta with him!

* * *

_At Japan's house..._

"I'm sorry, Italy, but I don't have any pasta."

"Whaaaaaaaat...?"

Japan sighed. "I do have fish, though...lots and lots of fish...pretty salty stuff, too,"

"W-Why don't you have any pasta, Japan? You had some last time I visited, didn't you?"

"That's because I bought it for you since you were the guest."

"Can you buy me some more pasta, then, Japan? Pleeeeease?"

"I'm sorry, but I cannot. It takes alot of money to fight in a war, you know."

"Oh..." Italy pouted, staring down at his own two feet, feeling completely dejected by his own friend. He didn't seem to care much that Japan did not intend this or anything. At the same time, Japan was terribly guilty for having to turn down his ally's request, but he had no choice. It had been like this for quite some time for all three Axis powers.

"Umm...will you be alright?"

Italy didn't say anything for a short while, and then he suddenly exclaimed with a jump, "Oh! I know! I'll go and ask Mr. France if he has any pasta! I'm so smart!"

"W-Wait! Don't do that! He's one of the Allies! He's our enemy! Italy! Don't go! Italy!"

* * *

_At France's house..._

"Oh, so you want pasta, eh, my little friend?"

"W-Well, we're not really friends or anything, but yes, sir, I do want pasta!" Italy saluted the blonde man, who let out a hearty laugh in response. Leaning slightly forward in his chair, France brought a glass of champagne to his lips, taking a tiny sip. Italy had a cup of tea with him, but he didn't drink it, since it was most likely laced with date rape drugs.

"I do believe I have some pasta in the kitchen if that is what you're looking for..."

"Yata! Mr. France, you're the best! Thank you so much!"

"Ha ha, it's no problem, dear Italy, but in return, I need you to do something...for me...understand?"

"Sure! Anything at all! What is it?"

"Do you really think you can do it? You're well-known among the Allies as being a bit of a wimp,"

"For the sake of pasta, I'll do anything!"

France's expression suddenly became deadly serious, and he said, "If that's the case, then what I want you to do for me is this: I want you to become my wife."

"Your wife, eh?" Italy blinked.

"It's more like my sex slave, to be perfectly honest!"

Less than two minutes later, poor, traumatized Italy was running as fast as he could for the sake of both his life and his virginity. His next destination: his older brother Romano's tiny home.

* * *

_At Romano's house..._

Italy gently rapped his knuckle against the door of Romano's house. "Heeeey! Romano, it's me, your little brother Veneziano! Open up and give me pasta, ve!"

"...iot!" A mumbled voice said from beyond the door.

"Huh? Is that you, Romano?"

"Idiot!"

"You think I'd give you pasta, when I love it about as much as you do? Get real! Besides, that potato-sucking bastard you love to hang around with can probably get you some pasta, right? You don't need me, your older brother, at all! I definitely don't want to get caught up in any more trouble because of your naivety!"

"B-But, Romano, you need to listen! I don't-"

"Go away!"

Italy couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Romano..." He had always expected at least his older brother to be there for him, but now it was like the poor man had been abandoned by everyone he trusted, even by the people he didn't trust at all. It was devastating, and he couldn't even cheer up without getting to eat some pasta. He waited a little while longer with hopes Romano would open the door eventually, but when that didn't happen, Italy solemnly went on his way.

* * *

As Italy wandered back to Germany's place, his stomach let out a loud growl. It was already noon and he hadn't eaten a thing all day; he had been expecting to get to eat pasta, but unfortunately that seemed like an impossibility. Italy crawled into the house through the window, as usual, and went into the kitchen to see Germany standing around. Italy knew he only had one chance left to appeal to Germany to buy him pasta.

"C'mon, Germany! We're...we're friends, right? I really need this; I really do! You don't understand what it's like living without the pasta! Nobody else is helping me, but I always believed I could depend on you, Germany!" Italy reached out, grabbing Germany's arm to drag him back over. However, Germany quickly pulled himself away.

"I said no!" Germany barked furiously, "If you want to eat pasta so badly, then you need to learn to make your own money, Italy!" His bright-blue eyes seemed to say it all. In reality, Germany was having a tough time with money at the moment, especially due to France's meddling, so he couldn't risk loaning any cash to Italy. However, he had too much pride to openly admit that.

"Ah..." Italy gasped; he had never seen Germany so angry with him in a long time. He thought he could get away with anything.

"I'm sorry...look, I'm going to go and get dressed for the meeting today with the Allies forces. Just find something else to eat instead, alright?"

"Waaaaaaah..."

In a state of utter shock and visibly shaken, Italy collapsed onto his knees. His wide, dark-brown eyes were brimming with tears. As he stared at Germany's retreating back, a strange emotion began to overtake him. It was not sadness or fear like usual, but pure rage. He had hardly ever been angry at anyone before, and he didn't expect he would become angry at his best friend. However, this was not any normal type of anger. Italy was practically seething; he wanted pasta, and Germany dared to deny him of it. He had suffered so much torment and bloodshed over the years, and now, without pasta to comfort him, he couldn't handle it. He heard a voice, a familiar voice, whispering to him from the shadows, telling him that Italy shouldn't let this go. He should get revenge. He should get his pasta whether Germany wanted him to or not. He deserved it.

Finally, Italy snapped.

"Oh, Germany...?"

"Huh?" Germany barely turned around before a knife was plunged deep into his right shoulder, and two other knives were thrust into his legs. Blood spewed from the wounds, drenching Germany's white shirt and pants with the crimson liquid. Even worse than that, obviously, was extreme pain. Screaming, Germany toppled over onto the floor, which only worsened the agony as the writhing around dug the blades further in. Standing tall over the injured man was Italy, who, disturbingly enough, wore a playful grin on his lips.

"Germany...can I have some money to buy pasta?"

"Ugh! Oh god...fuck! Ah, shit, it hurts like hell...I-Italy, you..."

"Pasta, Germany! I need pasta!" Italy purred, licking his lips. He truly looked like a madman now. Even his hair curl looked more like some sort of frightening horn.

"Italy...why did you do that...oh, dammit..."

"Not until you give me money for delicious pasta, Germany! Please?"

"N...N..."

"What was thaaaaat?"

"Gaah..."

Italy giggled insanely. Streams of tears were pouring down his cheeks and dripping onto the tiled floor. "All work and no pasta makes Veneziano a crazy boy!"

"What the hell...argh...are you t-t-talking about? You're always blabbing on about stupid shit...fucking moron...gah, it hurts like hell..." German groaned through clenched teeth; the pain in his arm had lessened slightly, but it was still impossible for him to even lift himself off of the ground at this point. The wet blood also would make it too slippy to stand. He was completely at Italy's deranged mercy. Italy was not very pleased. In fact, he looked more pissed off than he already did.

"Pasta...pasta...pasta...pasta pasta pasta pasta pasta pasta pasta pasta pasta...!"

Germany felt a terrible chill overcome him, and combined with the throbbing pain in his legs and arm, he found himself gradually losing consciousness. He ended up regretting of not having bought that extra package of pasta for Italy, after all. Italy slammed the heel of his foot against Germany's stomach over and over again, laughing. He then started to scream about pasta once more.

As Italy howled in his incoherent rage, and Germany laid helplessly in a puddle of his own blood, a malevolent figure was watching from the shadows. A tall man, in a long brown coat, with silver hair...and an eerie smile...


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.

A/N: I decided to see if I can give it a more proper story.

* * *

When Germany finally regained his consciousness, he found himself lying face-first in a puddle of his own dried blood. A dull, throbbing pain was evident in his right shoulder and both of his legs. It seemed that some sort of first-aid had been applied to keep him from dying due to blood loss, but it still hurt like hell. For some reason, he could taste the faint residue of olive oil on his lips. He tried to shift himself into a more comfortable position, preferably over onto his back, but then he realized that his arms had been tied together behind him. Raising his head, he saw a portrait of his former boss hanging on the wall, which immediately confirmed his location: the basement. Large cartons of ammunition and old weapons were seen strewn about in a unorderly fashion as well.

'I...I must have passed out from the pain not long after Italy attacked me...' Germany thought, but then the horrid reality dawned upon him, 'Wait a minute...Italy...that no-good useless Italy...he ATTACKED me with intent to kill! That's not even possible, is it?' The idea of Italy doing anything violent seemed an impossibility until today's horrific events. He was both impressed and infuriated by Italy's hidden cunning and viciousness.

"Pasta...! Pasta...!"

Germany froze. He could hear Italy's sing-song voice echoing from the kitchen upstairs, where the door to the basement was located. He sounded so happy and carefree, almost as if he hadn't just attempted to take Germany's life a few hours before. Being all tied up as he was, Germany had no way of knowing what had happened, or what was GOING to happen. Germany hoped that Italy had just taken some of his money, gone out to buy pasta, and finally regained his sanity.

'For now,' Germany decided, 'I need to work at get this blasted rope off of me...'

* * *

_At the same time..._

Italy was sitting at the kitchen table, happily singing to himself as he ate from a large bowl filled with pasta. Sitting across the table, with a friendly smile and his eyes closed, was Russia. He was holding one of the bloody kitchen knives Italy had used to attack Germany earlier. It excited him to see the blood of a fellow nation be spilled so effortlessly; he might be able to make use of the absent-minded Italy after all.

"Yata! Thank you so much for the pasta, Mr. Russia! You're not such a bad guy after all!" Italy exclaimed with glee.

Russia chuckled under his breath. "You're very welcome, Italy. I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here, how I got into Germany's house, and how I knew of your troubles with obtaining pasta...correct?"

"No, not really!"

"Oh...kolkolkolkol..."

"B-But you can tell me if you want, ha ha!" Italy grinned sheepishly; even though he was now an official psychotic, he was still just as afraid of Russia as everyone else.

"I've been following you. I overheard your plight when you were arguing with Germany this morning about how there wasn't any pasta. I watched as you went from friend to friend, begging for pasta, but they all refused to help you. It's so sad, Italy, when countries aren't willing to help each other out of the goodness of their hearts. We need to learn to be more kind; that is what I believe. Because I am following a philosophy of kindness, that is why I came to bring you this pasta, but you had already gone and attacked your friend in a blind rage, but it was justified I believe, because he refused to give you aid when you needed it most."

"When you put it that way, it makes sense, Mr. Russia! I want everyone to be happy too...with pastaaaa~!"

"I like your attitude," Russia nodded, "Which is why I want you to help me punish the other countries who didn't help you! What do you say to that?"

Italy paused in middle of eating, and thought deeply about Russia's offer. "Hmm...I dunno! Now that I have my wonderful pasta, I don't feel angry anymore...and although what Germany did was mean, I can still forgive him, I think!"

Russia pulled out a long, steel faucet pipe from out of nowhere. "Are you sure you don't want to help me? I have other ways of persuading you, you know,"

"W-W-Well..." Italy cowers in fright.

"I guess threatening you isn't convincing enough, huh? What if I told you that Japan, France and South Italy all had much more pasta than they actually needed, but due to their greedy natures, they didn't let you have even a single noodle?"

"W-What?"

"It's true. Look at this photo!" Russia held up a small, black-and-white photograph that seemed to resemble Japan, Romano and France all sitting around a table and eating pasta. In reality, it was a photo-shopped picture that Russia had his sister Belarus put together for him, but it was ample 'evidence' to easily convince naive Italy into believing it. As Italy stared at the photo, the same rage he had felt with Germany was gradually returning. All he could see was red; he wanted to get revenge. Just as Russia had hoped, Italy was no longer in a right state of mind after the previous pasta incident. Anything that involved the denial of pasta was practically the worst crime imaginable in his eyes.

"...I'll help you..."

"Excellent! Let's go crush some happy faces!" Exceptionally pleased with the result of their conversation, Russia jumped to his feet and swung the faucet pipe over his head like an over-excited child. He had waited so long, so very long, for an ally in his plans. Now he could finally make everyone and everything become one with Russia.

Their first stop was going to be Japan's house.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers.

A/N: I got bored and unable to think of more ways to make it more interesting at the moment, so this is the last chapter. I'm sorry that it came out crappy and out of character for Japan and others, as well as . I'll try to do better next time.

* * *

Later that same day...at Japan's humble little home...

Japan still couldn't help but feel worried for his friend North Italy, despite having not made much of an effort to stop him from going to France's place earlier. After looking around in the pantry an hour ago, he was surprised to find he had alot more pasta left over than he originally expected. Unfortunately, because Italy didn't have a phone nor did he have a permanent place of residence, there was no way Japan could contact him about it in such a short time. A great sense of guilt and unease had befallen the mild-mannered man for the time being.

'The next time I see Italy, I should definitely apologize...and probably invite him over for pasta, as well! Yes, that would be best! Hmm, but would that really be okay? I had done a great dishonor to my friend, and that is not something that should be easily forgiven. I would have to prostate myself before him and beg for forgiveness. If worse comes to worse, then I may need to resort to seppuku...hmm, that might be a bit too extreme, though, and it'll make me sound like someone who'll throw a tantrum and kill himself if he can't be forgiven. Oh, what should I do?'

Japan's inner monologue came to a halt when he heard a sound steadily approaching. It sounded very much like a large vehicle, possibly a jeep of some sort, driving at high speeds over a bumpy terrain. It was drawing closer and closer, but then the roaring faded away completely. For some reason, Japan's pets, Pochi and Tama, seemed very distressed all of the sudden, and they darted out of the room. Japan wasn't sure what had just happened. For some reason, the memory of learning that animals could sometimes sense disaster earlier before human beings came to mind.

'I wonder what's going on...'

Japan was about to go and check up on his frightened pets, to see why they had ran off, but the answer immediately showed itself to him in a rather unexpected way. That is to say, the jeep from earlier came crashing through the front door of his house. Shrapnel, chunks of metal and millions of tiny splinters were flying everywhere. Japan couldn't even scream out in shock; he was absolutely petrified, and he even dropped his sword. He was even more taken aback when he saw that Russia, along with Italy, was the one driving the jeep. Japan was starting to wish he had taken to hiding alongside his cat and dog.

Russia chuckled innocently. "Hello, Japan. It's good to see you again. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Ah...ah..."

"Hi, Japan! How's it going?" Italy interjected with a cheerful grin. He was holding a nail-gun in his hand for some reason.

"I-Italy?"

"You were hiding pasta from me, right?"

"Huh?"

"Answer me!" Italy clicked the trigger of his replacement for an actual pistol (since gun control laws were very strict in Japan) and shot three small nails into Japan's left thigh. Japan finally found it in himself to scream out loud as he toppled to the floor. He wasn't entirely incapacitated by the wound, but the suddenness of it and the unexpected amount of searing pain had caught the Japanese man off-guard.

"Oi, Italy," Russia spoke up, "You gotta wait until AFTER they refuse or unable to divulge any information before you shoot them, okay, buddy?"

"Ah! I see! Sorry about that, Mr. Russia!"

"You..." Japan slowly reached for underneath the table beside him, where he kept a secret weapon in times of self-defense, but he needed to keep his attackers distracted first, "Italy...why did you...gah, why did you shoot me? I was just thinking about apologizing to you too!"

"No amount of apologies will make up for what you've done! You've been eating lots of pasta behind my back, haven't you?" Italy barked, his eyes filled with a mad rage that Japan had never seen before. It was like staring face to face with a demon in human flesh. Japan could not have imagined in a million years that someone as ditsy and laughably inept like Italy could possess such hatred. This only have Japan more of a reason for why he had to cut down Italy and Russia now before they attacked anyone else. It was too late to help Italy, and Russia had always been a douche.

"It's not nice to lie to your friends, Japan," Russia remarked as he took a step forward. Italy fired a second round of nails into Japan's other leg, but Japan just gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the pain.

"You've been lying to him too, haven't you, Russia?" Japan smirked. It was pretty hard keeping his cool when his face was covered in sweat and he looked as pale as a sheet.

Italy looked over at Russia, puzzled. "Ve, Mr. Russia?" Although it was true that Russia had lied to Italy, there was no way he could risk letting that come out right now, especially since Italy was carrying a nail-gun with him. Instead, Russia just smiled as pleasantly as usual.

"He's lying...kolkolkolkol...you know I would never lie to a friend as good to me as you!"

"Yataaaaa~!"

"You're both...hopeless..." Japan suddenly pulled out a shimmering, lengthy katana from underneath the table, and rolled forward. However, he had no time to swing his blade before Italy had shot him once, twice, three times in the face with the nail-gun. Blood gushed from the wounds and Japan fell back, dead.

"Wait...are we supposed to be able to kill a country?"

"Italy, you truly are useless."

"Ve? Ve? Ve?"

And just like that, Japan disappeared from the map of the world in an instant. Russia and Italy briefly exchanged horrified expressions, and they quickly ran away as fast as their legs could carry them. They had only intended (or at least Russia did) to intimidate Japan into giving in, not to take his life. It wouldn't be long before the police would find the young man's corpse. To destroy an entire country no doubt carried a death penalty behind it. Of course, if they died, then their countries would disappear as well. Thus, together, the two men had to take up hiding in various countries' homes every week until the heat would die down.

Germany failed to escape from his basement, too.


End file.
